


Igor's Creature

by Ysabetwordsmith



Category: Frankenstein & Related Fandoms, Frankenstein (1931), Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Canon Disabled Character, Class Differences, Class Issues, Classics, Families of Choice, Family Secrets, Feminist Themes, Fix-It, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gothic, Hurt/Comfort, Mad Science, Male Friendship, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Science Experiments, Science Fiction, Spiritual, Unconventional Families, Victorian Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:26:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabetwordsmith/pseuds/Ysabetwordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Igor, not Victor Frankenstein, who did most of the work to make the Creature.  So when things went wrong, it was up to Igor to fix them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Igor's Creature

**Author's Note:**

> This poem came from the April 5, 2011 Poetry Fishbowl.  It was inspired by prompts from LiveJournal users Xjenavivex, Thesilentpoet, and Aldersprig.  It was selected in a [generally sponsored poll](http://ysabetwordsmith.livejournal.com/1702346.html).  In order for this to make maximum sense, you should be familiar with Mary Shelley's [Frankenstein](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frankenstein).  It also helps to know some of the (many and contradictory) [feminist interpretations](http://www.victorianweb.org/previctorian/mshelley/pva229.html) of the story.  Sometimes, mad science isn't all about the scientist after all.

Call him that,  
because that's what he was:  
Igor's, not Frankenstein's  
and a creature, not a monster.

Igor was the one who assembled the lab equipment,  
nut by bolt, buying and begging and scrounging the parts,  
sweating on his back on the scaffold under the ceiling  
with a candle clenched in his mouth   
and a screwdriver twisting into the very small screws.  
It was not Igor's fault that Victor Frankenstein  
had gone out drinking with several other gentlemen,  
and neither read nor listened to the instructions  
for operating the equipment, being convinced  
that he already knew what he was doing.

Igor was the one who went out to the graveyards  
and dug through the mud to find fresh bodies,  
carefully selecting the parts, _just the right_ parts,   
the broad strong hands and the square shoulders  
and the good heart.  
It was not Igor's fault that Victor Frankenstein,  
being a man and a doctor and a rich one to boot  
hadn't enough sewing skill to replace a lost button.

So when things went inevitably, horribly wrong  
Igor was the one who cleaned up the mess.  
He swept up the broken glass in the laboratory  
and repaired what equipment he could.  
He put Victor Frankenstein to bed with a warm blanket,  
a cup of lemon tea with honey for his crumpled throat  
(plus enough brandy in it to _keep_ him in bed and out of trouble)  
and a magazine of science and another of loose women.  
Then he went out in search of the poor confused creature.

Igor found the creature sitting beside a lake, crying.  
"It's all right," said Igor, patting the creature's back.  
"Sometimes he makes _me_ want to strangle him too."  
The creature leaned his heavy head against Igor's shoulder  
and bawled like a lost calf. Igor patted him and rocked him  
and wondered what the hell Victor Frankenstein had been   
thinking, anyway -- but of course the answer to that was:  
he _hadn't_ been thinking, at all. 

It was all too easy for a man, a wealthy man,  
a society man, respected by his peers  
and belonging to a prestigious profession,  
to go galloping off after whatever idea  
happened to flit through his head  
because he was convinced that it would work  
just from the fact that he _wanted_ it to.  
A man like Victor Frankenstein had little if any  
counterbalance in the way of people telling him   
_NO_ when that's what he needed to hear,  
and not much more of telling himself,  
 _Well that wasn't such a good idea, old chap!_  
or even _Perhaps I hadn't ought to do this after all_.

Igor had a lifetime of such experiences  
and absolutely no trouble in spotting a new one  
as soon as it appeared on the horizon.  
What Igor did not have was a banker's fortune,  
which meant that he needed a job,  
which meant that he put up with Victor Frankenstein  
and kept his mouth shut so he could _keep_ his job.  
Now that it had all come crashing down around his ears,  
and people had gotten hurt despite Igor's best efforts,  
he was determined to put things right as best he could.

"Come on," he said, tugging the creature's hand.  
"We may as well start walking." So they walked  
out of the town that knew Victor Frankenstein.  
They begged for clothes and food, and when they could,  
they did a little work on the side. Slowly,  
the creature learned to speak a few words,  
but mostly they communicated by signs.  
Before long, Igor's creature  
became Igor's friend  
so it hadn't turned out too badly after all,  
although it would have been nice if the good doctor  
had somehow learned a lesson from the whole mess.

Eventually they found work in another town,  
with Igor minding a lab for another absent-minded scientist  
and Igor's creature cleaning the floors and walkways  
with the meticulous care that Igor had taught him.  
Igor didn't much care for people who liked to play God,  
but he'd take their money, then he'd go home with his friend  
and emulate the kind of God he wanted to believe in:

the kind of God who took care of the poor,   
the reviled, the broken, the downtrodden;  
the kind of God who believed in loving your neighbor  
even if he was an over-educated ass;  
the kind of God who would put himself out  
to heal a stranger's pain and sorrow --

not the God of scientists, all gleaming   
steel and gold and jewels;  
but the God of carpenters, who'd understand  
what it meant to scrunch on a dusty scaffold   
with a candle in your mouth so you could see to drive screws  
because your work was _important_ to you.

That kind of God, yes, Igor was willing to play  
and to pray to and to tell his friend about.

In their new town they even   
made a few new friends.  
Nobody from their old town  
ever managed to find them,  
for Igor had outwitted the good doctor  
and Igor's creature had proved more capable  
than anyone else would have suspected,  
and they hid themselves just fine where no one would look.  
So they settled into a quiet life,  
enjoying the company of their new friends,

and the nice bluestocking girl  
who bought them coffee  
and listened to their story  
was kind enough to grin at their conspiracy

and lie about the ending.


End file.
